A Penny for Your Thoughts, Miss
by cascade-of-black-ink
Summary: A new take on Miss Moneypenny. Beneath the quirky and bubbly surface is an emotionally scarred woman putting up a brave face. It all began with a rendezvous at a hotel room, a few bullets, and a run-in with the secret agent who would change her life.
1. The Informant

**Author's note: Hehe, barely finished with the last fic and already starting another one... When I heard that they were thinking about reintroducing Miss Moneypenny the idea just popped up in my head and was impossible to resist! Consider this story set after Casino Royale, and probably Quantum of Solace (though I haven't watched that one huhu!), but it wll be almost devoid of mention of both. That okay, folks? A****nyhow, just tell me how you feel about it, all right? As usual, reviews are much, much loved! :D**

**Disclaimer: As always, I do not own anything in the Bond universe.**

**Chapter 1: The Informant**

**Istanbul, Turkey**

It was half past midnight when the woman in the white trench coat and coiffed brown hair sauntered casually into the quaintly decorated lobby of Hotel Bakarza. She sat on one of the sofas and rested her black satchel on her lap. The sounds of a classical piano piece tinkled from antiquated speakers and the woman smiled when she realised that it was Debussy's _Clair de Lune_. She tapped her fingers on her lap according to the rhythm of the tune, as if she was playing the piano there and then. It brought back wonderful childhood memories, memories of security, warmth and honesty.

Now it was a man's turn to enter the building. He was tall, olive-skinned and wore thick-rimmed glasses. In one hand was a leather briefcase, in his mouth a lit cigarette. His presence was registered immediately by the woman, waking up from her reverie.

He spent some time at the reception desk before heading off and disappearing into the elevator. The woman waited a good fifteen minutes, then she got to her feet and took the elevator to the 3rd floor.

_Room 305, Room 305._ She located the room and knocked on the door. "Farouk?"

The door opened, and the tall man with the thick-rimmed glasses grinned at her with relief. "Oh, thank God you're here. Come in." As he shut the door behind her, he asked nervously, "Had any trouble finding the place? Did anyone follow you here? Were you seen? Did you see anything suspicious on your way here?"

"No, no, yes, and no," she replied, sitting on a Victorian armchair that was placed near the bed. She removed a laptop from her satchel and switched it on. "How do you expect to remain unseen when you enter such a public place like a hotel?"

He shrugged as he opened his leather briefcase and handed her a thin dossier as well as a pen drive. She plugged the pen drive into her laptop and copied all the files contained within it: pictures, videos and PDF documents. He watched her apprehensively. "Are you sure these will be enough to build a substantial case?"

"I hope so," she said, unplugging the pen drive and handing it back to him. "I'll get these back to the embassy right away. Hopefully they'll be able to do something about it, but I don't expect them to take any direct action." Finally, she could afford herself smile at him. "How about dinner?"

He laughed as he removed his glasses. "Oh I am hungry, all right," he leaned over and kissed her lips as she laughed against his mouth. "Hungry for you." He untied the belt of her trench coat and loosened her bun and trailed his lips over the exposed nape of her neck. Her laughs turned to sighs, sighs turned to moans as they undressed each other and made love in a flood of fluttery happiness and total surrender.

"I love you," he murmured into her ear when they both lay satiated in each other's arms, her head on his chest and her fingers stroking his belly.

She jerked her head up to look at him, her eyes wide. "Seriously?"

He touched her forehead with his own. "Um… yeah?"

She gave his head a playful push with her fingers. "Very funny. Haha." She slithered out of his arms, got out from under the covers and started to dress herself up.

"Okay, okay, I'm serious now," he said, sitting up. "I love you." He paused, then he said again, this time more sternly. "I love you."

She sighed and sat on the mattress, just within his arm's reach. He touched her cheek ever so gently, and she suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to cry. She had never been lucky in love before; during her school days no boy had ever asked her to the annual school dance; even in university, the only relationship she had had lasted for only a week when it turned out that the idiot only wanted to approach her roommate; and in all her three years at the British embassy in Istanbul, the only man who had ever asked her on a date was her boss, and even then it was merely because he was having a tough time with his wife and he needed to look good at the ambassador's birthday dinner.

"What about you?" he asked, his black eyes wide with hope. She didn't dare say it, didn't dare commit herself to such a heavy promise. But then again, it would feel so good to be loved by someone, wouldn't it? She had dreamt of this moment so many times: a faceless man proclaiming his love for her, and only her.

But she couldn't. Not just yet.

"I'll have to think about it," she said apologetically. "I'm sorry, but you know – when we started this, we agreed that it would be just a fling… then you suddenly say that you love me. It's – it's confusing."

"I understand," he replied. He leaned over and dropped a kiss on her cheek. "You know that nothing is ever stable in my life. I can be here today and be all the way in Japan tomorrow. But throughout this whole month, you have been the one constant in my life." He took her fingers and touched it to his lips as well. "And I like that. I like the idea of coming home, coming home to you after a long, tired journey."

She threw her arms around him and hugged him tight. "That is the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me," she whispered, tears pricking the corner of her eyes.

"Well, you deserve it," he whispered back.

* * *

The smile remained with her even after she had kissed him goodbye and left the hotel room, her brown hair in a messy ponytail as she was too lazy to bun it back up. As she jabbed the elevator button, she realized that her hands were still jittery and sweaty. She gave it a good shake and stuffed it in the coat of her pockets.

Just then a man came up right beside her and pressed the 'DOWN' button as well. She snuck a glance at him: he was tall, but not as tall as Farouk, had closely cropped blond hair, and stood like a policeman. He turned his head suddenly, and she quickly jerked her eyes away. Embarrassingly caught looking at people again. Well done.

The sound of squeaky wheels caught her attention as it turned around the corner. Once again, curiosity caught the best of her and she couldn't help but watch as a male housekeeper wheeled a trolley full of cleaning appliances and a huge laundry bag. She smiled to herself. Housekeeping used to be a women's thing, didn't it?

And then it struck her: who does housekeeping at an hour like this?

The trolley stopped in front of a room. Room 305.

Why would Farouk call for housekeeping at a time like this?

Just then the elevator chimed and the doors slid open. The man who stood next to her entered it, and, upon seeing her staring openmouthedly at the housekeeper and his trolley, asked her gruffly in a British accent, "Are you taking this one?"

"Huh?" she glanced at him uncertainly. "Oh no, no, you go ahead. Sorry." Without waiting for a reply, she began to move towards the room she had just left. The housekeeper had unlocked the door with his key. He registered her presence and, to her surprise, pointed a gun at her and fired.

With a terrified scream, she threw herself to the left and out of the bullet's way. It smashed into a flower pot just behind her, sending fragments of clay showering over her leg. She looked up just as the housekeeper slipped into Room 305. Then it hit her. He was after the information.

And he was going to kill Farouk for it.

"No!" she screamed and ran for the door just as a bullet hit the door and was fortunately lodged into it, or it would have pierced her forehead. A huge, beefy arm locked around her neck and another hand pressed a cloth to her nose. It smelt of chloroform. She tried to jerk and wriggle her head away but it was no use. The smell seeped into her nose and she began to feel dizzy.

Just as her vision was about to fade, the cloth, and her assailant, was suddenly pulled away from her. She fell, the impact of her butt hitting the floor jerking her back to reality. Who? She looked up just in time to see the blond man who had waited for the elevator with her smashing his fist straight into the face of her assailant. She crawled out of the way, yelping in pain as he hit the floor, bloody face-first onto her left leg. The other man kicked the huge, heavy body out of the way, grabbed her hand and pulled her up so forcefully that she was frightened.

"What are you doing?" she shouted, albeit a little wildly, attempting to twist her wrist away from him, but he kept his grip tight. "Farouk – he's in there!"

"If you go back in there you'll be dead as well," he hissed back at her, his blue eyes glinting, and with a jerk of his hand he broke into a run, half-dragging her as well.

A spray of bullets erupted from behind them and she screamed as the man pulled them both to the side. Her knees buckled, but he dragged her up again, forcing her, pushing her to run. She turned around just in time to see him make a blind run towards the gun-wielding housekeeper and kick the gun from his hands. However, he was not fortunate enough to avoid a blow to his cheek, which sent him staggering backwards. But he recovered fast enough to snatch the gun out of the close grasp of the other man and shoot him directly in the chest. Another scream escaped from her mouth, which she smothered immediately when she saw the glaring blood stain where the bullet was fired into his otherwise clean white uniform.

Tears slipped from the corner of her eyes almost immediately as she realized that Farouk was most probably dead as well, killed by the fake housekeeper who was shot by the man who had rescued her. Mixed emotions tumbled inside her like a tsunami wave, and before she knew it, she was sobbing, sobbing from relief and from sorrow and from anger. She was the one who had asked to meet him, she was the one who wanted the information, she was the one…

"Come on," said the man who had rescued her, his face stained with another man's blood, some cuts and a smarting eye, shaking her shoulders to rouse her. "The police will be here anytime soon."

She couldn't reply, but she gathered enough sense and strength to get to her feet and follow him blindly as he led her quickly down the emergency stairwell, discreetly out of the hotel through the half-asleep kitchens and into the dark and dank back street. He asked her to sit on the pavement and wait for him, which she did without any protest. In a few minutes, he was back out with a backpack and a cleaner face.

He helped her back up to her feet. Police sirens wailed in the distance, and they were approaching fast. They exchanged glances: hers was one of helplessness and panic, his was of questioning. "My car's just down the street," she said quietly.

He nodded. "Thank you."

* * *

**Dun dun dun! Well I think you can all pretty much guess who's who here! Do tell me what you think!**


	2. The Revelation

**Author's note: Woah, this chapter is actually half the length of the previous one... it seemed pretty long to write. :P Thanks thanks thanks so much to those who reviewed! And sorry for taking such a long time to get this up... I've actually got one more paper to go to the end of my exams, and I'm just ECSTATIC!!! Hahaha!! So I hope this chapter can make you guys as ECSTATIC as I am! **

**Disclaimer: A special one for this chapter: I disclaim owning Bond, Moneypenny, M, MI6, and most importantly: I DO NOT KNOW ANYTHING OF ANY TERRORIST THINGY IN KASHMIR.**

**That said, go ahead and read. :D**

**Chapter 2: The Revelation**

Suspended in a daze yet somehow still conscious of everything that happened around her, she managed to drive them both back to her apartment, which was a modest tenement in the Asian half of Istanbul. The hallway in the tenement block reeked of vomit and one ceiling light flickered uncertainly. She glanced both ways before unlocking the door to her unit and let both of them in.

She bade him to sit on the sofa and took out the first-aid kit. It was a bit rusty at the hinges but the medicine had not expired yet.

She hoped.

"It's all right," he said as he took the cotton bud and antiseptic medicine out of the box. "I can do it myself."

"No," she grasped his fingers quickly. The impulsive movement startled even herself. She withdrew her hands and felt her cheeks flush. "After – after all that you've done for me, this is the least I can do for you," she managed to croak out.

To her relief, he smiled in resignation. Her throat tightened up and remained clenched as she cleaned the cuts by applying antiseptic to cotton buds. The muscles of his face twitched involuntarily every time she applied the stained cotton bud to a cut she hadn't cleaned. She didn't know what else to say, nor did she want to. Horrible images of Farouk, God knows what had been done to him, drifted in and out of her mind. One moment she envisioned him to be a bloody mess on the bed, his throat slit; in another vision his face had been punched in till it was unrecognizable; the list went on and on…

"Ouch," said the man abruptly. She realized that she had been literally poking the cotton bud into the exposed flesh where a particularly nasty wound had split open some of his cheek. Also, her hand was shaking. She jerked her hand away and muttered an apology. But her hands. They wouldn't stop shaking.

"It's all right," he said, holding her wrists firmly. Now not only her hands shook, but her breath did too. She felt the tightness in her throat closing in, and her eyes become moist and hot with unwept tears.

Finally, she managed to expel the words from her throat: "He's – _dead_." And it was all too much to bear. She broke down, felt his arms closing in around her shoulders, imagined them to be Farouk's, and wept herself to exhaustion.

* * *

The rays of the morning sun that shone directly at her eyelids woke her up from a dreamless sleep. She blinked once, then turned her face away from the windows. She found herself in reclining position on the sofa, a blanket wrapped over her. Water was running in the bathroom, and she pushed herself up instantly. She felt a bit weak, weak from hunger. God, when was the last time she had eaten? And who else was in the house?

A squeak from the shower knob, followed by a short silence, then the bathroom door opened and out stepped a man with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. They locked gazes, and it was a few seconds before she realized that he was the man from last night.

"Good morning," he managed to say, with a weak attempt at a smile. "Feeling better, I hope?"

Then she also remembered that she had been crying her eyes out like a baby last night. On his shoulder. Or so she thought. "Yes, thanks," she replied, "And you?"

He shrugged. "All right, I suppose. I hope you don't mind me using the shower."

"No, no, of course not," she murmured as she pushed herself up to her feet. She needed to eat or she would positively faint from hunger. As she passed by him to get to the kitchen, he asked abruptly: "What's your name, by the way?"

She looked at him, caught off guard. And she realized also that she didn't know his name as well. How clever of her to bring home a perfect stranger. _Way to go_, she mentally chided herself.

"Penny," she said, smiling and holding out her hand, "my name's Penny. And you?"

"James," he shook her hand. "Nice to meet you, Penny. I was wondering if you could possibly tell me more about the illegal immigration documents I found in your computer." Then, as if as an afterthought, he added, "I'm sure you don't mind me breaking into it."

She sucked in her breath. But she didn't have the strength or will to be furious at the moment. "Would you like some breakfast?" she asked instead. But she knew that he knew that she would tell him about it, and the feeling of friendliness evaporated.

"That would be nice, thanks," he replied, his voice equally quiet.

* * *

Breakfast had been eaten, and after that the tale had been told. Penny told him everything she knew, which could basically be summed up in the files that she had gotten from Farouk. An underground syndicate was smuggling immigrants from Africa and Asia into Europe. The particular arm of that syndicate that Farouk had managed to uncover was in charge of transporting Turks, Iranians and Pakistanis into Britain. The scanned images of the illegal immigrants' fake passports and working visas were all that she had, as well as an invoice for three trucks that would be used to carry cotton from Istanbul to Dover.

Shortly after they had finished running through it, James instantly went to the windows to mull over it. She didn't know what he thought about, and she didn't want to either. She shut her laptop and stowed it away in her satchel. It was a Saturday and she was one of the lucky ones who didn't need to be at work at the embassy, but she had promised Farouk to hand it over to her boss as soon as possible. The thought of his fate made her tremble again, but she managed to overcome it at once. His death would not account to nothing, she would see to that.

She left James to brood to himself and took a shower. When she emerged from the bathroom, she could hear him speaking on the phone.

Not her phone, she hoped.

"Yes, I'm quite sure that it's them," he was saying. He didn't notice her watching him intently. "No, M, my brain hasn't rotted from being on leave, as you seem to want to think so. They are the terrorists that the CIA is after. The mailing list that was circulated to our offices is in my phone, courtesy of Felix Leiter."

He frowned for a while, then he took a deep breath and resumed: "I'm telling you this because they're planning on entering the United Kingdom in trucks of cotton. Whatever the reason for them wanting to enter the country, it can't be good." His head turned in her direction and she realized that she hadn't got anything on but a towel, and that sent her scurrying into her room to change, her heart thudding wildly in her chest.

Once she was fully dressed (in her usual working attire: a silk blouse and a black knee-length skirt), she went into the living room just as he ended the phone call. They exchanged questioning looks.

"You're not going to go to the embassy," he said as he pocketed his phone in his jeans pocket. "We're going to London."

"What?" she stared at him with wide eyes. "But why? What was that talk about terrorists and – and the CIA?" She paused. "And who exactly are you?"

He took a deep breath and looked at her directly with his bright blue eyes. "My name is James Bond. I'm an MI6 agent." He glanced at the satchel where her laptop was safely stowed away in. "Some of the immigrants in your files are suspected figures in a terrorist organization based in Srinagar, Kashmir. That makes it automatically an MI6 case. Do you follow?"

That irritated her. "Of course I do," she couldn't help but snap. "I'm not as thick and helpless as I've made myself to be. But why do we have to go all the way to London? Can't we e-mail the files to them instead?"

"The same reason why your contact at the hotel couldn't afford to e-mail them to you."

"That was because my e-mail inbox isn't secure. We're talking about MI6 here, which is protected with firewalls and all that security thingy, isn't it?" she shot back. "And that 'contact' has a name. It's Farouk."

"Who's dead, if you're to be believed," he said coldly. Her stare turned to a glare, and she suddenly felt an overwhelming need to strike him. But she couldn't move, couldn't make herself move, because he was right. Oh God, he was right. And she was stupid, so stupid to trust him the night before, so stupid to be taken in by his friendliness and think that he truly cared about her.

"Fine," she spat bitterly, "London it is, if you must."

He nodded. "Good, because flight tickets are already reserved for us as we speak. The plane leaves in an hour and a half. Pack light."

* * *

**Hmm, you would guess that my style would be for her to explain word by word, dialogue by dialogue about the whole thingy right? But I didn't! Haha, guess I was a bit lazy this time around (hmm, would explain the length...). Funny how tender turns to mutual dislike so quickly, isn't it? Actually, I might think about rewriting this chapter to add a bit more depth... let me know what you think, okay?**

**And btw, just a flight to London? You guys don't think it's gonna be that simple, right? (evil laugh)**

**Review please! :)**


	3. The Diversion

**Author's note: Thanks for the reviews! :) Hopefully this chapter will be good, because it was quite hard for me to write, and it turned out shorter than the last one too! A bit sad about it... but you know what will cheer me up, don't you? *wink***

**Disclaimer: Nothing in the Bond universe belongs to me, most unfortunately...**

**Chapter 3: The Diversion**

The moment their taxi pulled up at the entrance of the Sabiha Gökçen International Airport, James immediately assumed the role of the alpha male by ordering Penny to sort out the payment with the taxi driver while he handled the tickets. Penny conceded, but not before giving him her sharpest glare.

"Thank you, darling," he said, just before he got out and slammed the door shut in her face.

She huffed as she took out her purse and counted out the dollar bills to the chuckling driver. "How long?" he asked as he accepted the money from her.

"Sorry?"

He nudged his chin in the direction of James, who was jogging across the road to the airport entrance, looking every bit the poor expatriate with his backpack, green T-shirt and jeans. "How long you married to him?"

"Married?" she exclaimed. "What – no, of course not! That man won't even last an hour in one." That was proclaimed with satisfied vengeance. Usually, she didn't like badmouthing fellow human beings behind their backs, but for James Bond, she made an exception.

The taxi driver made no further attempt to probe into their relationship as he helped her with her luggage that was stored in the trunk of the taxi. As he wrestled with a wheel of her trolley suitcase that was entangled with a bundle of telephone wires, Penny tried to alleviate her boredom by casually observing the scenario at the airport entrance, which was a chaos of vehicles, exhaust emission, impatient honks, and yells from disgruntled taxi drivers.

Then she noticed something a plain, nondescript, silver Peugeot 206 parked just several cars behind her. There were four young men in it, all of them wearing hooded caps, and they were staring at _her_. She sucked in her breath and quickly glanced away. Was it her imagination or what? Why would anyone be observing her? Were they plainclothes policemen? She hadn't done anything wrong. Or maybe it was the striking, sleeveless yellow dress that she had chosen to wear despite her better judgment. She nervously adjusted her dress, hoisted her handbag closer on her shoulder and hastily thanked the taxi driver when her suitcase had finally been freed and handed to her.

She was halfway across the road when she heard a loud screech of tires and an ensuing medley of honks. She turned to look. The silver Peugeot had weaseled out of its parking spot and was speeding – in her direction.

She gasped. _Shit_.

Before her own reflexes could kick in, a hand grabbed her arm and yanked her with such force to the other side of the road that her fingers slipped from the handle of her suitcase, causing it to bounce off the front bumper of the Peugeot. As for Penny, she collided straight into the arms of her rescuer. Shock and relief flooded her senses, until she heard a familiar voice:

"Can't you do _anything_ without getting yourself killed?"

Penny looked up and realised it was James, smirking down at her. She jerked her arm out of his iron grasp and hissed at him, "Let me go!"

"What?" he glared at her. "Not even a thank you?"

"Why should I thank you?" she stabbed a finger at her suitcase, lying stark in the middle of the road, as bumped and bruised as she was. "Look at what you've done! I bought that with my first paycheck! If it's ruined – "

"Oh, for God's sake," muttered James as he dashed towards the road, picked it up with ease and hurried back. It was dirty and a bit dusty, but he didn't even bother to dust it down before handing it to her. Penny eyed him hatefully as she took the handle from his hand. "I told you to pack light," he retorted smugly. "Now come on, I'm not going to miss that flight because of your clumsiness."

"I'm not clumsy!" she blurted back, but he ignored her and as much as she had liked to whack him with all her might with her suitcase, she was stopped from doing so when he suddenly took her free arm up in his. She tried to wriggle her hand out, but his elbow grip was unusually strong.

"Look happy, darling. This is the honeymoon I promised you _years_ ago, remember?"

She stared at him. "You're mental."

He merely smiled, but to himself.

Despite her deep, burning dislike for him, Penny had no choice but to play along. However, she could not get the near accident with the Peugeot out of her mind. As they headed for the check-in counter, she couldn't help but feel, and fear, that they were being followed.

While they waited in the check-in line and James, pretending to be the dutiful husband, prepared their passports, Penny took her compact powder out from her handbag, flipped it open, and pretended to touch up as she used the mirror to search for potential stalkers. Her breath caught in her throat when she spotted the same gang of young men, though they were split up, lounging and walking around aimlessly, their eyes fixed on her.

"James," she said to him, her eyes wide with fear. "I think we're being watched."

He looked at her sharply. "Are you sure?"

She nodded rapidly, feeling that her heart might just jump out of her throat. "They're the same men who tried to knock me down. James, I swear that the car was intentionally speeding in my way. You've got to take my word for this."

He scanned the crowd around them as she kept her compact powder in her handbag and tried to look straight despite the fact that her level of fear was escalating by the second. Then he handed her their passports. "Keep them."

"What are we going to do?" she asked breathlessly as she stuffed them into her handbag, her hands now shaking.

His eyes were cold and alert now, and he moved like a machine. "They must be after the information given to you by your contact. We've got to go." He grabbed her arm and guided her away from the queue, careful to make it look discreet. Penny merely let him take charge, she was frightened now beyond her wits. She had never, never been a wanted person before. All her life, she had been plain old Penny, the Penny who led a monotonous life and stuck to the same brand of toothpaste. Being pursued this way almost seemed surreal if not for the firm grip of James's hand on her arm.

Suddenly, a few gunshots were fired into the air. Screams erupted in the airport as people around them ran for their lives, some dropped to their feet and covered their heads with their hands. James broke into a run, dragging a truly terrified Penny along with him. The panicked movements of the crowd slowed them down, forcing both James and Penny to wrestle their way through. When her bulky suitcase got wedged in the leg of a chair, Penny abandoned it without a second thought.

Adrenaline now dictated her every move. They pushed and shoved their way down escalators, past people who were trying to escape as well. Just as they got off one, three men dressed completely in black and wearing ski masks ran up in their direction, each of them aiming an MK-47 in their direction. James took a gun out of his jeans pocket and fired at them, taking all three down with well-aimed shots.

Penny felt her knees go weak when she saw the three bodies crumple to the floor. The horror of yesterday night returned to her in a rush, turning her limbs to lead. The blood, the gunshots, Farouk…

"Come on, Penny," said James as he took her hand and led her away from the scene. They ran down a wide flight of stairs and came to a food court, where everything was askew but thankfully empty and silent. Penny relaxed a little bit, but James remained tense. The assailants hadn't gotten there.

Yet.

"Where do you think everybody is?" she asked, as they wove in and out of the tables.

"There must be another exit somewhere here," he replied back.

Suddenly, Penny felt the skin on the back of her neck tingle. Instinct instructed her to look behind her, and she did. She glanced around and saw men, dressed in the same all black outfit and ski masks, running stealthily towards the food court entrance, towards them.

And their guns were out.

"DOWN!" she screamed as she dived under the nearest cashier counter, pulling James along with her. A rain of bullets hit the counter, which was thankfully made of a thick block of metal, but the glass display that housed canned drinks and snacks weren't so lucky. James sheltered her with his hand, covering his head as well, as shards of glass exploded around them.

"Good call," he muttered to her when the commotion ended.

She merely nodded. "No problem."

"Miss Wroughton!" called a voice in thick Turkish accent from a distance over the counter. Penny widened her eyes in shock. How did they know her name?

"Miss Wroughton!" said the voice again, "We do not wish to harm you and your friend. We only want what you have been given by the reporter Farouk Mehmet at the Hotel Bakarza yesterday night. Give us that, and we will let both of you live."

James peered a little over the surface of the counter before dropping back down immediately. "They've got Molotov cocktails," he muttered with a dry smile, "not very well funded."

"And your point is?" she hissed at him.

His eyes rested on a fire extinguisher right behind them. "Now, fancy seeing you here," he asked amusedly as he crouched over towards it and examined it. Despite the tension in the moment and the heaviness in her heart, Penny couldn't help but stare at him. "Why are you talking to the fire extinguisher?"

He ignored her question. "Hold on to your horses," he said again. In one fast, smooth motion, he managed to heave the fire extinguisher over the counter. Before it could even drop to the floor and before the masked men could register what was going on, he leapt up and fired two shots at the fire extinguisher.

With an ear-splitting spurt, foam and dust immediately gushed out, forming a large cloud of smoke that sent the masked men coughing and reeling. He quickly pulled Penny to her feet and pushed her over the counter of a booth that sold Thai food, despite her yelp of protest. Then he jumped over the counter himself, picked the spluttering woman up again and, both coughing, they made their escape.

* * *

**Rather abrupt there, I feel, and a bit clumsy too (no, not referring to Penny, haha). Tell me what you think about it, all right? This goes on my rewrite list if all is not well...**


	4. The Detour

**Disclaimer: I do not own any familiar Fleming characters, nor from the movie either.**

**Chapter 4: The Detour**

"… there were no fatalities and no hostages taken. All outgoing and incoming flights, however, will continue to be suspended until tomorrow while cleanup operations are underway. Meanwhile, the police have denied allegations that the attackers are affiliated to international terrorist organizations. But as of now, the identity of the terrorists are yet to be confirmed as they are still at large. The Home Security Minister would like to assure all citizens that heavier security measures are being reinforced throughout Turkey until the suspects are apprehended. However, all citizens are also advised to exercise caution – "

Penny sighed and turned her face away from the television just as the café owner rang up her change and handed it to her with a smile and a 'Enjoy your food'. She picked up the plastic tray of food and brought it back to the table where James sat, his eyes fixed on the gleaming blue of the Bosphorus. His head jerked in her direction the moment she set the tray on the table, as if he was ready to spring up and dart off any moment.

"It's only me," she muttered as she sat and handed him the bottle of mineral water that he had requested. "Thanks," he mumbled back. Then he frowned at the plate of pastry that she had put it between them on the table. "What's that?" he asked, rather distastefully.

She rolled her eyes. "It's called _burek_, and it's a type of layered pancake-ish pastry that's popular in this district. This one's got ground meat in it, and it actually tastes better than it sounds." She took a bite out of a slice and sighed in contentment as she chewed on its rich flavor and texture. "Want some?" she asked him in between mouthfuls.

He grunted, but he took a slice and chewed a small piece off it. He didn't comment, but from the way he finished the whole slice at least he did not hate it.

"So," she started, rather apprehensively, when the plate of _burek_, his bottle of water, and her glass of iced tea had been finished, "what do we do now?"

James shrugged. "For starters, we can forget about boarding flights. They'll be expecting us there, you know, and – "

"I knew that," she bit back irritably. "God, I'm not a little girl, all right?"

"Of course you're not," he agreed in an amiable tone that only aggravated her further. She fought off the urge to huff and stalk out of the café. Doing that would only put her in an even more unfavourable light. So if looking at his face was only going to make her lose her cool, then she would look elsewhere. Like outside.

Just then a ship came sailing by. It was one of the seabuses that commuted regularly between both sides of the Bosphorus Strait. At first she merely stared at it, unfazed. Then it hit her.

"I have an idea."

* * *

"You're _joking_," hissed James the moment they alighted from a taxi and stepped foot onto the crowded Karaköy harbour, not far from the café where they had stopped at earlier. Penny chose to ignore the obvious horror in his voice. It had long been a daydream of hers to spontaneously board a luxury cruise liner to an exotic, faraway port that she had never been to. And she was determined to realize that dream there and then, not only because it was a fantastic way to slip under the radar of their pursuers, whoever they were, but also as a way to pay James back for the way he was disdainfully treating her.

"Oh come on, James," she slipped her arm around his elbow and began pulling him in the direction of the ticket booth, joining a short line of excited, chatty tourists dressed in khaki shorts, floral T-shirts and with expensive cameras slung around their necks."The last place they'll look is in a fancy cruise ship. And it's not even the biggest one in the port." Everyone in the line were now watching their antics, or more precisely, James's. He looked as if Penny was trying to get him to wear a skirt.

She gave them a gracious smile and even had the sudden guts to mouth to some of the women: "Men." They nodded and smiled understandingly back. James then recognized the foolishness of his behavior and smartened up at once with a clearing of his throat. Penny smiled up at him, eyebrows raised. "What do you think, _darling_?"

"Where does this ship go anyway?" he asked, sounding a little bit more haughty than she was used to.

"It's a one-way from Karaköy to Dubrovnik and it leaves in an hour," she replied as she squinted at the sign placed above the ticket booth. "Oh, and apparently tickets cost quite a fortune too." She smiled expectantly at James. "But MI6 wouldn't mind covering for this, would they?"

"Quite the contrary," he muttered with an amused smile to himself, but he scoffed and took his credit card out from his wallet anyway. It was all that Penny could do to stop herself from laughing an evil laugh of triumph as she plucked the plastic card out of his hands.

The cruise liner was, unfortunately, not one of those fantastically enormous luxury ones that Penny lusted after, but there was an adequately-sized swimming pool, an all-you-can-eat buffet area, a salon, a boutique and a nursery for children, so explained the welcoming staff. Due to the financial restrictions of his credit card, James and Penny were consigned to a small couples' suite with only one bedroom, one tiny living room and one bathroom. Penny was horrified at the idea of having to share a bed with him, but she kept her mouth shut in indignant fury, not wanting to give him any more reason to think her an amusing child.

The moment he saw the double bed, however, he merely chuckled to himself and said to Penny, "Don't worry, I'll take the sofa." Penny merely nodded as she went straight into the bathroom and shut herself in there. Suddenly, she couldn't bring herself to look James in the eye. For some strange reason, it reminded her too much of Farouk.

Bond left her alone. That woman was a complicated one: she could be chatter-happy one moment and moody and contemplative the next. He'd met his fair share of women, but none of them puzzled him as much as Penny. Or Penny Wroughton, as far as he could piece her name together. She was both a naïve, terrified schoolgirl and a troubled, complex young woman. She was a puzzle that he had the slightest of inclination to try and solve, but even he could sense that the cost of doing that would be to form an attachment with her. Whether that attachment would be of the platonic or romantic sort, he couldn't tell. So the best thing to do was to stay away.

While she shut herself away in the bathroom, he took the liberty to go out and explore. There was nothing exceptionally remarkable about the cruise liner. It only resembled a four-star hotel on water. But as he walked past the boutique that the attendant mentioned, he remembered that Penny had lost her luggage at the airport, which was partly due to him anyway, so he supposed that he owed her, of all things, clothes. Fortunately, he himself had had enough sense to travel light, and all the clothes he needed were stowed away safely in his backpack, as well as Penny's sensitive information that was stored in a metallic grey pen-drive which he had kept in a waterproof ziplock bag. Bond resisted giving himself a small pat on the back for having thought ahead.

However, it failed to cheer him up. With a strong feeling of apprehension and a string of muttered curses, he tentatively stepped into the small shop.

There were both men and women's wear for sale. Bond was tempted to hide among the men's shirts when the pretty sales assistant hurried up to him with a smile, but he took a deep breath and gathered all his wits about him and replied in the most confident voice he could muster, "I'm looking for some clothes for women."

The sales assistant's smile faltered a bit, but she said chirpily anyway, "What do you have in mind? Formal or casual?"

"Most probably casual. Is there any specific dress code on this ship for any specific time?" he asked, as she led him to wear a rack of sparsely arranged dresses stood.

"No, but some passengers do make the effort to look smart for dinner," she replied. "Maybe you could get a mix of formal and casual dresses for your girlfriend. Dresses are the easiest for a man to choose."

He shook his head as he edged some of the hangers apart to see the dresses she mentioned, feeling a bit mortified inwardly. "No, I don't have a girlfriend. But dresses are a good idea. Can you choose some for me?"

It only took fifteen seconds for Bond to finish shopping. He didn't really observe the colour of the dresses the sales assistant picked out, or its cutting or pattern or whatever. It wasn't as if he was giving out Christmas presents. However there was one dress that he liked: it was a navy blue knee-length dress with a low, swooping neck made of smooth velvet. As the cashier swiped his credit card and they waited for the transaction to be approved, Bond couldn't resist a smile. M would have a fit when she would be presented with the account of his spending that he planned to claim for reimbursement.

When he returned to their room, he found Penny sitting cross-legged on the bed, reading a newspaper and chewing thoughtfully on a scone. There was a paper plate of them beside her. She looked up the moment he walked in through the bedroom door. "Where have you been?" she asked.

"Out shopping," he replied tartly, annoyed at finding her back in her cheery mood. Was she schizophrenic or something? He should have just left her to figure out her clothes for the next few days. What a stupid man she was turning him into. He chucked the bag of clothes that he had bought for her right onto her lap, grabbed a scone and the newspaper, and sat on an armchair beside the bed.

He tried not to look as she opened the bag, widened her eyes in amazement, and proceeded to empty its contents onto the bed. She was speechless for a few seconds.

"You bought all of this for me?" she whispered.

"If they don't fit, you're to bring them back yourself," he replied nonchalantly.

"S-sure," she said, still in some sort of shock. She held each one up, but stopped and gazed in wonder at the blue velvet dress. Then she turned around to look at him. "This is the most gorgeous dress I've ever owned."

"You're welcome," he muttered back.

Suddenly she let out a small giggle. "How much money do I owe you?"

"You don't owe me anything. I'm charging it to MI6," he said with a repressed smile.

"Seriously?" she slid off the bed and held up one of the dresses, an emerald green one. "Did you read the label before buying?"

He put the newspaper down and frowned up at her. "What do you mean?"

"This is Club Monaco."

"So?"

"It's expensive!" She slumped. "Ridiculously so. I don't think your boss will approve."

Bond had no doubt that M would, albeit after massive disgruntlement and some yelling, but it would be fun to just toy with her for a while. Penny sighed and half-turned to keep the dress back in the bag when he said, "Then I guess you'll have to owe me the money, Penny."

She suddenly laughed.

"What?" he asked, deepening his frown.

"Nothing, it's just…" she changed her mind about keeping the dress in the bag and proceeded to hang it up in the wardrobe. "When I was a child, my grandmother used to call me that."

"Call you what?" he asked, both amused and curious now.

"Moneypenny," she replied with a smile, "because I always used to beg her for money to buy sweets and ice-cream whenever the ice-cream man came around. She was always asking me to return the money I took, which I never did, of course. She was French and I used to spend my summers at her house in Provence. She's living in a nice apartment in Paris where my aunt can take care of her."

"That's nice," he replied, smiling as well. "Moneypenny," he repeated again to himself.

"Don't – " she said, holding up a finger in warning but before she could finish her sentence, Bond leapt to his feet and headed for the door, snatching up another scone along the way. "I'm going out to get some fresh air. I'll be back at six and you'll be dressed by then so that we can go to dinner together."

"Dressed? How?"

He nudged his chin in the direction of her new dresses. "See you then, Moneypenny."

* * *

**Author's note: Well since I figured nobody ever registers what I say when I place the author's note on top, I've decided to move it down! Muahahaha! Anyway, profuse apologies for the delay... ever since I started working I haven't been able to muster enough energy and creative juices to write... hence the rather fluffy, predictable, cutesy, Bond-getting-all-sensitive chapter. The whole point of it anyway was to reason out how just Penny became Moneypenny, and why Bond sometimes addresses her as Penny (in the films). I'd like to think that there was an interesting story for it rather than it being just a surname (albeit a deliberately rhyme-y one). As always, your opinions, whether they be positive reviews or just plain flames (I know, I must have written Bond quite badly here :( ) are always appreciated.**

**Review please! :D**


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